


feel the rhythm with your hands

by pann_cake



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 05:37:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pann_cake/pseuds/pann_cake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every morning when Dean wakes up, it surprises him. He can never remember his dreams, if he could hear sounds in them or not, but waking up from them feels like opening his eyes underwater. He’s submerged. When he’s still half-asleep and not thinking about it, he itches his ears, pulls at his earlobes, like a kid with an ear infection. It doesn’t help, so he stops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	feel the rhythm with your hands

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for an h/c prompt for the season 7 finale: "The Righteous Man is Dean after all. They need a bone -- so Dean chooses the littlest bones in his body, not knowing what he's saying when he agrees to that. They take his earbones, rendering him deaf." 
> 
> The title is from "Spoonman," by Soundgarden.

The last thing he heard Sammy say to him was, “Are you sure about this?”

Dean had nodded, not thinking at the time that a bone from his pinky toe might have sufficed. 

Cas had hesitated a moment before placing a hand on each of Dean’s ears. He’s not sure what the last thing Cas said to him was, the pain was too intense.

But he thinks it was simply, “Dean.”

\--

Every morning when he wakes up, it surprises him. He can never remember his dreams, if he could hear sounds in them or not, but waking up from them feels like opening his eyes underwater. He’s submerged. When he’s still half-asleep and not thinking about it, he itches his ears, pulls at his earlobes, like a kid with an ear infection. It doesn’t help, so he stops.

There’s a ringing that doesn’t go away—he thinks it might be from the blast of the lab exploding, and he wonders if Sam’s ears are ringing, too. 

He finds himself forgetting, those first few days. He looks up, sees Sam mid-sentence, and shouts, “What?”

The twin looks of pity and concern on Sam and Cas’s faces make him want to scream. So he does.

Then he stops talking all together.

\--

He’s on the couch at a crappy motel with his eyes closed, one arm thrown over his face to keep out the light. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t eat. He feels a hand on his arm, shaking him, but he doesn’t know if it’s Sam or Cas. He groans—at least he thinks he does, but he can’t be too sure anymore—and rolls over, pressing his face into the scratchy back of the couch.

Eventually the two of them heave him up, shove greasy take-out at him and make him eat. When he’s done he throws the wrapper at Sam’s head. He should have heard the crinkling of the paper under his hands as he balled it up, the soft _thump_ as it hit its target. He should hear the ice clinking in his plastic cup as he moves the straw around. He realizes there’s rain on the window, and he should hear that too. He watches it stream down the glass in nonsense patterns, his eyes following the rivulets as they pulse and change.

He doesn’t realize Sam’s talking to him until his brother takes him by the shoulder and turns him, pushing a notepad under his nose.

_I know you’re not okay. Talk to me._

When Dean looks up, he can see the word on his brother’s face. _Please._

Dean snatches the notepad and the pen and scribbles _can’t_. He turns back to the window and Sam leaves him alone.

\--

They hole up at Jody Mills’s house for a while, because they have nowhere else to go. Between the notepad and Sam’s frantic arm gestures, Dean figures out that Jody knows someone who knows sign language. A teacher, maybe, Dean’s not sure. Sam immediately starts researching ASL on the internet, starts fingerspelling at Dean like it makes any sense to him at all.

He sulks about it for a day. Then he walks up to his brother, taps him on the shoulder, and spells out the letters S-A-M. If monkeys at the zoo can do it, Dean figures he’s just smart enough to figure it out.

Besides, the look on Sam’s face is enough incentive for him to at least try.

\--

Sam writes on a napkin that he has a surprise for him. Dean rolls his eyes and finishes his breakfast slowly, drawing it out just to watch Sam bounce in his chair. Sam brings him outside, and there, shining in Jody’s driveway, is the Impala. She’s a bit worse for wear, but Sam replaced her windshield and Dean knows he can smooth out the bumps and scrapes. He beams up at Sam, who tosses him the keys.

Dean starts her up. He feels a distinct sense of _loss_ when he doesn’t hear the rev of the engine, but it only lasts a moment. He puts both hands on the wheel, leans back into his seat, and closes his eyes. He can feel that familiar purr rumbling through his body, his bones vibrating with it. He can feel the long stretches of road he has yet to tread. His baby is whispering to him _we’re not done, not yet, not by a long shot_.

He opens his eyes, and he’s smiling. Sam taps him on the shoulder, holding up a cassette tape with _Rolling Stones_ written on the label in black Sharpie. Dean nods and rolls the window down, Sam pops the tape in and turns the volume all the way up.

They haven’t even left the driveway, but Dean feels as though he’s traveled miles. He turns to his brother and signs _thank you_.

Sam tears up a little and turns away. Dean, for once, doesn’t call him a girl for it.

\--

Dean is in bed but not asleep when Cas comes back from where ever he’s been. Dean’s not sure how he knows, he can just feel his presence in the room. He doesn’t need the tell-tale flutter of ethereal wings to know. Cas perches cautiously on the edge of the bed and Dean scrubs his eyes with the back of his hand before reaching for his notepad.

_Where were you?_ he writes. He sees Cas sigh, his shoulders slumping a bit, his chest heaving a breath in and out. He plucks the paper and pen from Dean’s hand.

_I wanted to give you time with your brother. Time to heal_.

Dean exhales through his nose and snatches the notepad back. _There ain’t no healing this_.

Cas sighs again and darts his eyes away. The notepad lies between them on the bed, but neither of them reach for it. Silence has always come easy for them, more said with a look than can be put into words. Still, Dean knows the shape Cas’s mouth makes when it says his name, and he thinks back to all the times he didn’t listen. 

_Are you sure?_ Sam had said.

_Dean_ , Cas had said.

And Dean didn’t listen.

But he’s listening now, with what he can. The tilt of Cas’s head means he has a question, the quirk at the corner of Cas’s mouth means he wants Dean to trust him. So Dean shrugs and lets Cas pull on his wrist and rearrange them. Dean goes without protest until he finds himself settled into the V of Cas’s legs, his back pressed flush against Cas’s chest. Cas places a hand over Dean’s chest to hold him there, and he starts to sing.

Dean can feel it, somewhere deep within his bones he already knows it. He closes his eyes and sees flashes of Hell, of fire and smoke and Cas’s voice, Cas’s hands cradling him. Dean doesn’t know the language of the words, but he doesn’t really need to. He can feel Cas’s voice singing, and the normal roughness is soothing against Dean’s back. He can feel it reverberating through Cas’s hand on his chest, and Dean has the absurd thought of Cas playing him like a harp. 

When it’s over, Dean reaches for the notepad. _I didn’t know you could sing_.

Cas’s arms come up on either side of Dean, the notepad balanced on Dean’s knees as Cas writes. _All angels can_.

Dean smiles. _Do you know “Smoke on the Water?”_

Cas doesn’t reply on the paper, but Dean can feel the thrum-beats of the familiar strains against him and he laughs. Whatever sound he makes seems to startle Cas, so Dean closes his mouth and curses himself.

After a moment, Cas takes the notepad again. _We are not our scars, Dean. This does not define you or own you. You are still yourself._

As Dean reads the words, Cas places a gentle kiss behind the shell of Dean’s ear, does the same to the other one. Dean feels hot tears slip down his cheeks before he can stop them, and he hurries to wipe them away but Cas stills his hands. He holds them over Dean’s chest and Dean feels his own heartbeat. He takes a few shaky breaths, his fingers clenching around Cas’s and holding tight.

Cas doesn’t let go.

\--

Dean is at the lake. He knows he’s dreaming. He knows because he can hear the gentle lapping of the waves against the dock. He can hear the plop of the water as a fish comes to the surface to eat the chunk of bread Dean threw there. He can hear birds call in the distance, the wind rustling through the trees, he can hear his own breathing.

He hears when Cas arrives, so he doesn’t turn when the angel sits next to him at the edge of the dock. 

“Are you doing this?” Dean asks. He expects his voice to sound ragged and hoarse with disuse, but it doesn’t.

Cas watches him, but Dean keeps his eyes on the water. “I can’t fix you, Dean,” he says sadly. “But I can give you this. For what it’s worth.”

“Can you bring Sam here?” Dean asks. “I never thought I’d miss the sound of that kid’s voice, but…”

“I believe I can bring Sam into the dream, if he is willing,” Cas says, and damn did Dean miss this. He finally casts his eyes over to the angel.

“It’s not so bad, I guess,” Dean says with a shrug, trying for nonchalant and knowing that Cas sees right through him. “We saved the world, we killed Dick, we fixed your brain. If all we lose in this equation are my ears, I’ll take it.”

“I wish this burden hadn’t fallen onto you.”

Dean sighs, but he doesn’t feel weary. Instead, he feels as though a weight has been lifted. “That’s kind of how the Winchesters roll, man. We have the worst luck in the history of the world.”

Cas grants him a small smile at that, and Dean bumps his shoulder before flopping back on the sun-warm wood of the dock, his legs dangling off the edge.

“You know what, Cas?” he says, putting his arms up behind his head and closing his eyes. “I’m gonna teach you a few new songs. How do you feel about Queen?”

“Which Queen are you referring to?” Dean cracks an eye open to see Cas peering blankly down at him.

“Well, it sure ain’t the Queen of England.”

The next morning, Dean wakes up humming “Fat Bottomed Girls” to himself. He bumps Sammy with his hip in the kitchen, who just glares at Dean, half-awake over his coffee mug. Jody laughs as Dean dances around to the music only he can hear, banging on the counter with a wooden spoon while he cooks breakfast for everyone.

When he gets to the chorus he points to Cas, who has been sitting sheepishly at the table and watching it all. He sees Cas mouth the words, “You make the rockin’ world go ‘round.” Sam’s face cracks into a disbelieving grin and Jody hides her giggles behind her hand. 

Dean just keeps smiling and shaking his ass at the stove. It’s going to be a good day.


End file.
